


How To Tame Your Devil

by Faster_Than_the_Speed_of_Sound, Guerrera_del_Cielo



Series: Wings are the Souls of Angels [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Wings, Cute Lucifer, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gentle Dean Winchester, Injury, Insecure Lucifer, Lucifer Redemption (Supernatural), Lucifer's Fall (Supernatural), M/M, Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Needy Lucifer (Supernatural), Scared Lucifer (Supernatural), Soft Dean Winchester, Sweet Dean Winchester, Touch-Starved, Vulnerable Lucifer (Supernatural), Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:07:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22435363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faster_Than_the_Speed_of_Sound/pseuds/Faster_Than_the_Speed_of_Sound, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guerrera_del_Cielo/pseuds/Guerrera_del_Cielo
Summary: Dean has been noticing that something is wrong with Lucifer lately. Not that he particularly cares what. But there's something off about the devil. . .Maybe it's because Castiel is molting. He always gets pissy around then.Or: Dean goes to try to help out a maybe-friend and gets a whole lot more.
Relationships: Lucifer/Dean Winchester
Series: Wings are the Souls of Angels [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1969084
Comments: 45
Kudos: 293





	How To Tame Your Devil

**Author's Note:**

> Faster_Than_the_Speed_of_Sound:  
> Hello, everybody! Welcome to my very first Ducifer fic! I'm more of a Destiel person, but if this is your OTP, get ready to be smacked in the face with feels, cuddles, and way too much fluff. :)
> 
> Don't worry, all I've done is some editing and suggestions. Guerrera_del_Cielo did the writing. ;)
> 
> Guerrera_del_Cielo:  
> Thanks, Speed. Very helpful. I love you. I'm a newer writer to Ao3, and my good friend Speed helped me write my first fic. I've always loved the idea of Lucifer and Dean being together, because both my boys are so broken and can fix each other so easily. . .
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

Dean was sure he was the only who noticed.

And maybe it was because he was the one watching the devil, always making sure he was in line, reprimanding and threatening him when he wasn't. Maybe it was because Sam and Cas simply didn't _care_.

Or maybe it was because Dean had felt an insistent tug in his gut ever since he'd first laid eyes on Lucifer.

Whatever the reason, Dean was the only one who noticed his change in behavior. He became slightly quieter, his jokes slightly more self-deprecating, his moods deeper and longer. The devil would sometimes look far off, as if he were imagining something or sinking into memories.

He seemed. . . sad.

Once Dean noticed it, he couldn't _stop_ noticing it. He began to look for it.

Finally, when Sam and Castiel had left on a hunt off in another town a few miles away, Dean confronted Lucifer. They had the devil locked in the Bunker, unable to leave unless he wanted to lose their trust. Dean was staying behind with a concussion.

"What the hell is the matter with you?" Dean demanded when he witnessed the devil staring sadly into space again.

Lucifer's gaze snapped to his, his blue eyes clear. "What?"

"What is the matter with you?" Dean repeated impatiently, recognizing that _maybe_ this wasn't the best way to deal with the situation. Oh well.

"There's nothing 'the matter with me'," Lucifer growled. "I don't know what you're talking about, puny human."

"Oh, now you're going into the insults again," Dean said. "There's something wrong with you."

"There are many things wrong with me, Dean Winchester," Lucifer said quietly.

"Well, why have you been so. . . mopey lately?" Dean asked. Lucifer glared at him, but there was no real anger behind his eyes. Just. . . sadness.

"It is nothing you would understand," Lucifer murmured, looking away. His voice and gaze had lost its heat. He looked exhausted.

"Is it because you're molting?" Dean asked curiously.

Lucifer jumped as if Dean had shocked him. His gaze snapped to the human's. "How did you know about that?"

"Castiel is molting too. Leaving black feathers all over the damn place," Dean explained. "I figured angels molted at the same time."

"When they're in the same flock, perhaps," Lucifer bit out.

There was a shocking tide of bitterness inside his words. Dean frowned. "So. . . you aren't molting?"

"I _am_ ," Lucifer practically snarled. "But I don't know why. It isn't as if Castiel and I are in the same _flock_." He bit out the word like it was a curse. Dean stared at him for a moment, trying to work through the anger and bitterness in his words.

"So. . . do you need help?" he finally asked. Dean didn't really know why he'd asked it. Maybe it was because of the defeated slump to Lucifer's shoulders, even if he _seemed_ angry enough. Maybe it was because there was obviously something wrong with the devil.

Or maybe. . . maybe it was because Dean had realized that behind all that anger and bitterness, there was pain. Such startling, agonizing pain.

"I don't. . . I need help," Lucifer admitted. He released a defeated breath, hanging his head between his shoulders. He looked so. . . broken. It made something in Dean's chest twist. "But what I need is something only another angel or an angel's mate can do."

Dean started, suddenly realizing something. "If that's true, then how long has it been since you've had your wings tended to?"

Lucifer made a noise then.

It was broken, soft, caught between a sob and a whine. Something so vulnerable and desperate that Dean ached to wrap his arms around the archangel and soothe him.

_Stop_ , he reminded himself. _This is the_ devil. _He's done terrible things to you and Sammy and Cas. To everyone. He's dangerous._

But Dean couldn't quite fit that image of Lucifer with the sad, shattered one before him as the archangel replied in a soft voice, "A very long time."

"Castiel. . . Castiel said that wing grooming was a social thing," Dean said tentatively, trying to get Lucifer to talk. He almost wanted him to be angry again, to be loud and shouting and cruel. Anything but the broken thing before him.

"Yes," the devil said quietly, looking away at the horizon. "Wing grooming is a way of bonding with your flock. With your mate, it's an intimate thing, much like hugging or kissing with humans. In Heaven, it's a common thing."

Dean read the undercurrent of those words. _But in Hell, there is no one to do it._

A wave of sudden understanding and sympathy passed over him. Lucifer had been locked inside the Cage for _millenia_. If this 'wing grooming' was as important as the devil made it out to be, then it must have been very painful to be locked inside Hell for so long.

"I could do it," Dean blurted, not really sure why he'd said it.

His words had an immediate effect of Lucifer. The devil flinched, flushing bright red.

"You don't know what you're saying," he choked out.

"Don't think of it as intimate," Dean said, his voice noticeably softer than it had been when they'd started this conversation. "Think of it as a friend helping a friend."

Lucifer glanced at him, and that look alone was so full of pain and desperation that Dean felt like the wind had been punched from him.

"It's not like that," the devil said, looking away. "Besides, they aren't. . ."

Here, he trailed off again. Dean frowned. 'They' must mean his wings. But what about them?

"What? They're not. . . what?"

Lucifer sighed, his breath short and tight. "When I was cast from Heaven, my Father made sure to drive the message into my brain. Naomi and Michael. . . they recruited the help of the other angels to torture me into submission before casting me out. Couple that with the actual Fall. . . My wings are a mess."

Dean swallowed. "You think I care about a couple scars? Have you seen mine?"

Lucifer snorted. "There is more than a 'couple scars'."

"I don't care, Lucifer," Dean said quietly. 

The devil snarled suddenly, trying to hide his previous vulnerability with anger again. He glared up at Dean. "They're hideous. I used to have the most beautiful wings in all of Heaven, Dean Winchester. But now they're broken and disgusting. You would be repulsed."

There it was. The last sentence told Dean enough of Lucifer's reluctance.

Instead of rising to the devil's anger, Dean stayed calm. When he spoke, his voice was as gentle as when he spoke to Sammy sometimes. "I wouldn't be disgusted by you, Lucifer. Trust me, I've seen some bad stuff in my time."

Lucifer looked away, no doubt thinking about his contribution to that. Dean waited until he opened his mouth and spoke again.

"It hurts."

Dean was taken aback by the statement. It was whispered, vulnerable. It revealed how truly scared Lucifer was, how much pain he was in. Dean hated to hear it, though he didn't know why. A few months ago, he would have been happy to know that the devil was in pain.

But now. . .

What had changed?

Maybe it was the shared meals. The jokes Dean couldn't help but laugh at. The help the devil provided when the Winchesters allowed it. The unnerving humanness of him that threw Dean for a loop every time he witnessed it.

Whatever it was, Lucifer had managed to worm his way through Dean's defenses and into his heart over the past few months. So much so that hearing him in pain hurt Dean too, made him want to take it away.

And. . . was that really so bad?

Yes, maybe. But right now. . .

"Show me your wings," Dean said softly. It was a request, not a command, but Lucifer looked resigned and defeated. For a moment, nothing happened.

Then Dean could see them.

He sucked in a breath.

Dean had seen the outline of wings before. He'd even glimpsed a flash of Castiel's once.

But nothing prepared him for the majesty of the wings before him.

There were six, for one. They were a gorgeous crimson red, stained like the sky during a sunset. They reflected gold, too, like there were little veins of precious metal that could only really be seen from the corner of your eye.

But. . .

They were damaged too. It made Dean's heart ache to see the beautiful wings so broken. Lucifer had six wings, one set of enormous ones that spanned at least as wide as half the room they were sitting in if he stretched them. The second set could probably span wider than Dean's Impala. And the final set, the smallest, were around six feet in span. They looked soft and beautiful, almost innocent, if that made sense in Dean's mind.

Still, the evidence of tortures long past spread across the beautiful expanse of feathers. There were gashes and untreated burns, looking as if they'd just been inflicted. One of the wings was definitely out of place, set higher than the other. The left one, part of the largest set, looked twisted and wrong, and the smallest two. . .

"They're meant for mating," Lucifer said quietly, reading Dean's gaze. "They wrap around your mate and comfort them. They're also the most sensitive."

They were broken. The bone that connected them to Lucifer's back, the supporting limb, was shattered on both wings. Gashes and burns littered the small, innocent-looking wings. It made Dean's chest ache with rage and sadness. How could anyone damage such soft, beautiful things?

"They're hideous," Lucifer finally said, as if stating a fact. "If I were ever to try courting a mate, the second I showed them these, they would be running for the hills."

"They're not hideous," Dean whispered, eyes taking in the extensive damage. "They can be fixed, Lucifer."

"No, they can't," the devil said sadly. "They're shattered and can't be fixed. Hideous. Irreparable."

Dean shook his head, taking a step forward. When Lucifer flinched and stepped back, Dean put his hands up in a nonthreatening gesture.

"I won't hurt you, Lucifer. I. . . I have an idea."

"My grace won't heal them," Lucifer bit out. "My Father made sure of that. The only way I could ever have them healed is if my mate or someone else did it, and we both know _that's_ not going to happen."

Dean was suddenly reminded of a time when Sammy had found a sparrow in the forest where they'd been hunting for a few weeks. The sparrow's wing had been broken. After much research, arguing with John, and toiling over a little splint, Sam had managed to heal the sparrow's wing and set it free.

What if the same could be done for Lucifer's wings? What if. . . all he needed was a friend to do it for him?

"I can help you, Lucifer," Dean said quietly, looking the devil in the eyes. "But. . . you gotta trust me."

Lucifer swallowed audibly.

Dean took a step forward again, and this time Lucifer only flinched. A few more steps, and Dean was only a few feet away from the devil. Lucifer was shaking, eyes closed, looking more scared and vulnerable than Dean had ever seen him.

"I'm going to touch your wings now," Dean murmured in warning. Lucifer said nothing, but he tensed.

Dean knew he was being stupid. He knew he was overstepping his bounds. He knew he shouldn't be doing this, shouldn't be getting so attached to the being that had hurt him and his brother so many times.

But. . .

But things were allowed to change, weren't they? Castiel had changed. Maybe Lucifer could too.

So Dean shut off his thoughts. He shut out the voice telling him this was a bad idea.

Then he reached out and touched the devil's wings.

Lucifer had been expecting pain.

The truth was, he'd sent his wings to another plane of existence for a long time. He hadn't wanted to look at them, to see how disgusting and broken they were, to be reminded of his Fall.

But whenever molting rolled around, once every three months, Lucifer was forced to remember. Forced to suffer through the pain of not being able to tend his wings, of injuries long suppressed and shoved to the back of his mind. Forced to endure the knowledge that he was alone and always would be.

But this time. . . with the presence of another angel so close by and the scent of _mate_ smacking him in the face every so often. . . 

It had hurt more than usual. And Dean Winchester, Father damn him, had noticed.

Lucifer had expected him to laugh, to make fun of him, to be cruel and mean, just like every other being he'd come across. But the oldest Winchester had been curious, if anything. And then he had offered to groom Lucifer's wings for him.

Still, Dean Winchester was a mean son of a bitch at the best of times, and he hated Lucifer, the devil was sure of it. He wouldn't put it past the hunter to try to take advantage of him when he was at his most vulnerable. 

So he was expecting pain. That was, after all, all he'd felt since he'd Fallen.

The soft, gentle caress in his feathers was _not_ expected.

Lucifer made an embarrassing noise, something that sounded like a whimper and sob, and grabbed onto the chair beside him to keep from falling to his knees.

What was _wrong_ with him?

Lucifer knew, of course. Wings were sacred ground to angels. They were a means to express love and family, to interact with your flock and your mate. To have the most vulnerable part of him so warped and shattered had broken Lucifer more than he'd anticipated.

He remembered how he'd felt when he'd woken in Hell and seen them. He remembered how he'd realized he would never court a mate. Never wrap his wings around another being and comfort them, never share in grooming sessions with a flock of his own. Never feel safe and loved and accepted again.

It had nearly been enough to break him.

He had endured, though. Persevered through the agony and loneliness, ignored the insistent tug of _mate_ and _flock._

He'd managed it so well, he'd almost forgotten. Then he'd met Dean Winchester.

_Mate._

It had nearly broken him, _again_ , to know that he'd hurt his mate. To know that his mate now hated him so deeply that he would gladly see him tortured and killed. To know that Lucifer was so close to what he'd always wanted, and yet so far.

Even though he knew he was disgusting, even though he knew he was hideous and broken and unworthy of Dean Winchester, Lucifer couldn't deny that the gentle touch, after so many millenia of pain and suffering, felt good.

Incredibly good.

Then it was gone.

"Did I hurt you?" Dean sounded panicked. Lucifer realized how it had seemed, realized how repulsive his wings were. How shattered they looked.

"No," he choked out, just short of begging the human to touch him again.

Dean stayed still for a moment longer, steeling himself, Lucifer was sure, to touch the devil again.

He caressed his wing again, and Lucifer choked back a sob.

Dean's hands were gentle, callused from years of fighting, but warm and soft all the same. They glided over neglected feathers and stroked at unused, torn muscles. The human's eyes were narrowed with focus, and there was a line between his eyebrows, as if he were worried.

"Does it. . . does it feel good?" the hunter asked tentatively, his fingers breaching the surface of the feathers for a moment to brush against Lucifer's wing bone.

The archangel sobbed. "Yes," he gasped out. "Yes."

Dean's fingers found the limb of Lucifer's middle left wing, his fingers hesitating, then gently kneading the muscle.

Lucifer fell to his knees.

Dean jerked away. Lucifer sobbed at the knowledge that his mate was repulsed by him, his wings fluttering with distress. The action caused agony to flare through him, and the archangel choked.

Lucifer opened his eyes, looking up at Dean. The hunter looked. . . worried, not repulsed. He was looking at his hands, at the red staining them, that line on his forehead deeper.

_He's repulsed. He hates me. They're disgusting, he knows, he knows I'm hideous and vile and wretched and broken-_

"Lucifer?"

Dean's voice didn't _sound_ angry or disgusted. He just sounded. . . worried. Again.

_If I weren't so broken and weak, I could comfort him. Make him feel better._

_I'm a pathetic excuse for a mate._

"Lucifer, did I hurt you?"

The archangel sobbed, shaking his head. Dean looked worried still, but he reached out tentatively and brushed his fingers lightly, so lightly, over the surface of Lucifer's feathers again. The hunter yanked his hand away as the devil choked on a sob again.

"No, _please_ ," Lucifer begged. He leaned forward, pressing his face pathetically to Dean's torso. His forehead leaned against the human's muscular abdomen, his eyes shut and shedding shameful tears.

"Please what, Lucifer? Does it hurt? Am I hurting you? You gotta tell me, Luce," Dean said gently.

The combination of his gentle voice, the pet name, and the hand that brushed gently at Lucifer's hair made the devil sob pathetically.

"Please," he begged, unable to force out anything else. "Please, more."

Dean tensed a little, and Lucifer was sure he was going to pull away. 

Then the hunter released a breath and took Lucifer's face in his hands, kneeling so he was at eye-level with the archangel. "Okay, Luce. I understand now. You. . . You're not used to this, are you?" Lucifer sobbed, shaking his head. "And. . . And you like it. Of course you do."

Lucifer nodded, keeping his eyes shut tight. He knew if he saw the disgust on Dean's face now, he would never come back from it.

Dean released a tense breath, his hands still holding Lucifer's face gently. 

"Okay, Luce. I understand. I'm going to help you, okay? I need you to come with me, though. I want you to be comfortable, and kneeling on the cement floor doesn't seem comfortable," Dean said. His voice was quiet, soft. 

Lucifer nodded, not quite understanding what was happening, but complying nonetheless.

He stood when Dean urged him to, following the hunter out of the room they had been in and down a series of hallways. It was only when Dean had opened a door and the sweet scent of leather, rain, and cinnamon had reached Lucifer's nose did he realize that they'd entered his mate's room.

_Mate. As if I could ever deserve him._

_He doesn't even know who his mate even_ is.

_That's a good thing. At least he doesn't have to go through the embarrassment of realizing it's me._

Lucifer was pushed until he was sitting on Dean's bed. The archangel resisted the pathetic urge to lean down and curl into the sheets, to comfort himself with the scent of his mate.

Instead, he watched as Dean hurried around the room, digging out a metal box and a few other supplies.

"I'm going to groom your wings, Lucifer," Dean promised. "I need to make sure your injuries are okay first."

Injuries? Was Dean trying to. . . heal them?

Lucifer sniffled, watching the human place the supplies down on the bed next to him. He was still confused, though that feeling vanished as he beheld what was inside the metal box.

Bandages. Burn cream. Ointment. Rubbing alcohol, needles, thread. . . It was a medical kit. And Dean was reaching inside, eyes on Lucifer's largest wing.

"I need you to stay still, Luce. Can you do that for me?" Dean asked. His voice was gentle, soothing. Lucifer nodded, wiping harshly at his eyes to stop the flow of tears. He was pathetic.

Dean shifted around to the other side of the bed. Lucifer tensed, waiting for pain, but all he felt was a gentle brush of warm fingers at the joint of his largest left wing.

His breath hitched. 

"It's out of place, Luce. I'm going to shove it back in," Dean said. Lucifer whimpered at the idea, knowing it would hurt, but he also knew that it would feel better after. "It's okay, Luce. You're okay. I'm going to shove it in on the count of three, alright?"

Lucifer nodded, waiting for Dean to start counting.

A sharp pain flared through his shoulder and he shouted in pain, his grace lashing out and shattering the mirror at the other end of the room. Lucifer leaned forward, pressing his face to the sheets beneath him, desperately fighting the tears of pain that rose at the agony coursing through him.

The pain began to fade, however. Lucifer's muscles relaxed as he breathed in the scent of his mate, pressing his face to the bed beneath him. 

"Shh, Luce, you're okay. You did so well, Luce. So good," Dean murmured, his fingers sliding along the surface of Lucifer's wings tentatively. The archangel sobbed, the combination of praise and gentle touch making him melt completely and forget about the pain.

"'M sorry," he breathed.

"Don't be sorry, Luce. Just. . . can you lay on your front for me? I want to clean some of your cuts," Dean said.

Lucifer laid himself out on the bed, his stomach pressed to Dean's sheets, his face on Dean's pillow. It smelled of the mint shampoo the hunter used, and Lucifer closed his eyes in bliss.

"Spread your wings for me, Luce?"

Lucifer tensed, suddenly brought crashing back to earth.

"N-No, I-" He cut off, gasping. Why was he panicking? This was ridiculous! But Dean was waiting, and suddenly breathing was harder and Lucifer couldn't see and he was panicking-

"Shh, Luce, it's okay. I understand. Let me spread them for you, and you tell me when it hurts, okay?" Dean asked.

Lucifer relaxed slightly, nodding into Dean's pillow. He'd soaked it with his tears. Lucifer turned his face to the side, shame rippling through him.

There were suddenly warm hands gently grasping the edges of Lucifer's largest left wing, pulling gently outward. The wing slowly unfolded, Dean climbing off the bed as the wingspan extended over the edge. The unused muscles worked, struggling to keep up until-

Lucifer yelped and Dean stopped.

"Are you okay, Lucifer?"

"Hurts," Lucifer said quietly, his voice tight with pain. 

"Okay. We'll work from here. I'm going to do that to your other wings, okay?" Dean asked.

Lucifer nodded, allowing him to slowly spread his wings as far as they were able. His largest right wing extended all the way without any difficulty, and the pride that Lucifer felt at Dean's words of praise and his own pathetic accomplishment was staggering.

Dean could barely extend Lucifer's middle right wing, however, and he assured the devil it was okay. His left wing was better, extending a little more than halfway.

Then Dean put his hands on Lucifer's smallest set of wings and the devil yelped.

The hands disappeared. "Okay, I'm sorry. I won't touch these yet, okay?"

Lucifer nodded, ashamed that his wings were so broken. So weak and pathetic. Just like him.

Then Dean was touching his largest set of wings, gently and efficiently cleaning the gashes and putting cream on the burns. He popped the little bones that were out of place back in, murmuring soothing words and apologies whenever Lucifer made a sound of pain.

Though it took hours, Dean finished with the top and middle sets of wings. As he came to the smallest, he paused.

Lucifer tensed, hating how Dean had to steel himself before touching him.

But the human merely ran warm fingertips over the feathers, his touch light and gentle. His touch didn't hurt, which surprised Lucifer. Instead, it soothed the archangel, prompting him to fall into the pillows with a sigh.

"Why would anyone hurt things as beautiful and soft as these?" Dean murmured, almost to himself. Lucifer glanced back and found the human staring hard at the little wings, running his fingers over them and staring as if he was mesmerized.

"They're broken," Lucifer said quietly.

"They can be fixed."

The words sent a rush of warmth through Lucifer, so powerful that the archangel turned his head back into his pillow in embarrassment. 

Dean's fingers stuttered to a stop as a knock sounded at the door. Lucifer immediately tensed, fear shooting through him, but Dean simply stroked the line of his back and shushed him.

The human got off the bed to answer the door, and Lucifer watched him, that irrational fear coursing through him again.

Dean opened the door, spoke to someone for a few minutes, then reached out and took something from them. When he turned and closed the door behind him, Lucifer could see that he had what looked like a bundle of white plastic sticks in his arms.

"Cas and Sam are back. Cas came by," Dean explained as he came toward Lucifer. "He brought these."

Lucifer stilled as he realized what 'these' were. Splints. Large ones.

For wings.

Dean climbed onto the bed beside the devil and sorted through the splints, choosing the right ones and laying them across Lucifer's wings. He pulled and tugged, apologizing at the archangel's sounds of pain, shifting the bones back into the right places.

Then he strapped on the splints.

Lucifer needed three full ones and two partial ones. His smallest wings twitched in discomfort at the idea of being strapped to something rigid and plastic, but the archangel allowed it to happen, watching as Dean gently fitted the splint into place.

When Dean was finally done, he put the medical box and his other supplies away and came back to the bed. "I can massage your wings now," he said.

"Thank you, Dean," Lucifer replied quietly.

Dean didn't say anything for a while. Lucifer jumped when he felt him press his face into the small of Lucifer's back, but the devil didn't pull away.

"I understand," Dean murmured quietly against Lucifer's skin. "I know how it feels to be alone. I'm sorry that you were lonely for so long."

"I deserved it," Lucifer stated.

"Maybe in the beginning," Dean said. "But never so harsh, and never for so long. God is the real monster here."

Lucifer didn't speak. He couldn't.

Especially as Dean's hands found his wings and began massaging the muscle of the limb, stroking through the feathers.

Lucifer melted into the bed, releasing any tension he'd been harboring at last. He fell apart under Dean's gentle touches, the affection and love he'd been deprived of for so long.

Lucifer whimpered when Dean found the oil gland, and he had never felt anything better than when the human spread the oil through his feathers, making them gleam and shine like they had in the old days.

"Your wings are beautiful," Dean murmured. Lucifer flushed at the praise, biting his lip to keep from sighing in ecstasy as the hunter spread more oil along one of the wings.

When Dean made his way to Lucifer's smallest wings, he was gentle, his touches feather-light and soft. The hunter kept up a steady stream of words and praises, soothing the archangel when a particular knot of tension hurt as it was rubbed out.

When Dean was finished, Lucifer was quietly crying, the gentle touches and kind words bringing tears to his eyes. Dean washed his hands of wing oil and laid down beside the archangel, his warmth comforting him.

Lucifer closed his eyes, though he didn't need sleep, and relaxed next to his hunter.

They stayed like that for a long, long time.

Lucifer's wings finally healed months later. He took the splints off tentatively, flapping his wings about gleefully when he realized they were fully healed. It happened when Dean was out on a hunt, so Lucifer forced himself to wait until the hunter returned before showing him.

In the meantime, he flapped his wings around, broke a vase, and knocked over a bookshelf before realizing that maybe angel wings were meant for outside. After that, he settled down and waited impatiently for Dean to return.

And when the hunter finally walked through the door of the Bunker, bloody, bruised, and exhausted, Lucifer waited. He waited until Dean unpacked his gear. He waited until he took a shower. He waited until Dean emerged from the bathroom and entered the room they had started to share together these past months.

Then he wrapped his wings, first the smallest, then the middle set, then the largest, around the hunter.

Dean laughed, saying that it felt like he'd ripped open a down comforter and dived inside. 

But Lucifer could feel the tension draining away. He tenderly healed each of Dean's wounds, and when he finally reached his face, Dean pulled him in for a gentle, lingering kiss.

"I love you, Dean Winchester," Lucifer murmured.

Dean laughed, resting his forehead against Lucifer's, enveloped in the fluffy warmth of his wings. "I love you too."

**Author's Note:**

> Both of us together:  
> WHAT DID YOU THIIINNKK??
> 
> Also, we love you. Thank you for reading. We hope you like it!


End file.
